


What Hides

by bestillmyheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Minor plot, Season/Series 04, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 16:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13861461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestillmyheart/pseuds/bestillmyheart
Summary: Night-time, just nearing twelve.All for him.





	What Hides

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to try my hand at detailed introspection but I think Dean said otherwise. Criticism is super welcome.

~~~~Night-time, just nearing twelve.  
  
Ink-black paint canvassing the sky above him, bright-white stars glowing and winking underneath the all-seeing moon.  
  
Beams of ancient eyes touch the fresh soil churning underneath his boots; the rain seeping into every particle of life, into the remnants of another era, right below the hard lines of his soles.  
  
His hair is matting to his head, _drip-drip-dripping_ into his vision but he clears them with every blink - _but don't blink, the night is here and gone, every second a timid beat of his coward heart_.  
  
_Tink-tah-tink-tah-tink_ off of his Baby, just as restless as he is; cool metal vibrant with the pale sun; blinding; accusing.  
  
_You brought me here_ , she sighs, and she's so vivid in his head, her sharp fingertips curling slow around her tired face.  
  
_For this, Dean?_  
  
Dean swallows, can't look away, even when the bitter sting of fear pricks his eyes - and somewhere, he laughs, because God thinks he's merciful as he washes them away.  
  
_Sinful child, when will you learn_ , He crows.  
  
Never; _never_.  
  
He never learns.  
  
A hand touches him and all of a sudden his teeth ache, his jaw sparking at its' hinges like a warning; his shoulders hike upwards and his heart spikes upwards and his nose scrunches into a snarl -  
  
\- but then he turns and it's like moving through tar: sticky, slow, unpleasant and _consuming_ -  
  
\- and his stomach screams against him, the churning a spin-swirl of adrenaline and doubt, and his body finally catches up.  
  
His chin trembles and _for god's sake, Dean, watch that lip; boys don't get scared_ but he does; he does, and so do his hands and his knees and his fucking soul, and he's _weak_.  
  
He can't help the shakes, not then and not now, _he can't_.  
  
But Castiel understands, doesn't say a word, doesn't even breathe - couldn't even if he wanted to when his wrath clings to him like his borrowed body, restraint constricting around his empty chest and compassion twining through his lifeless limbs, and everything _too much_ but _not_ _enough_ , and so he's still for him.  
  
All for him.  
  
_Everything_ for him.  
  
_Dean_ , and Cas sighs too, echoes Baby and she's not happy about it but she's quiet, waiting; watching with all-seeing eyes like the moon above, nails  _click-clacking_  on her cheek.  
  
_Dean, Dean, Dean._  
  
And he hears her _tsk_ , and that's not Baby, that's Mom, in his head - _always in his head_ -  
  
\- and _oh, baby_ , she murmurs, _aren't you just a mess_.  
  
And Dean wants to cry and _that's her_ and he says _yes_ but not the right yes, because Cas is gripping him tight - _tight, tight, tight; up, up, up; safe, so safe_ \- right on his claim, his mark, his _brand_ and Dean can't control it, can't slip a word into the sticky tar as he sighs and swoons and quietly basks in the heat of his touch.  
  
His chest caves in on itself then and his ears are ringing and reality is melting away but Cas is here, Cas _came_ , and his Dad is screaming in his grave, turning with the soil; soaking by now; _rotting_ ; but Cas is here.  
  
_Cas is here_.  
  
And somewhere in his head, Mom chides him, and Baby slips her hand away, and right here, Cas watches him, patient.  
  
And everything's ok.  
  
Dean repeats it, his own mantra, his own _Bible_ , and how many times has he had to, until it finally fucking stuck - _and it never does, not really, never sticks_  - but the moon keeps shining and the stars keep leering and maybe this time it does.  
  
Maybe just this time.  
  
Maybe _just this once_ , and he begs: harsh and raw and breaking; he would dig his knees to the mud eddying around their feet, if God _would just_ _listen_ -  
  
\- and maybe he does, because Cas sweeps forward and his hand clasps around his nape instead and the heavy weight sits there: grounding, warm, and all _Cas_ ; and Dean sighs out his fear into the fog between them and he's _safe, safe, safe_ here.  
  
Always is.  
  
And _never again_ , he hears, and there's Cas, wrapping himself around his body, like a shield; like a living snare; an entity of _light_ and _frequencies_ and _divine intent_ and even he is weak, his own vessel shivering with the knowing-cold of the night, safe from fear but not from his brothers.  
  
But the Host says nothing, and nothing more can be said - not when God allows and cascades down and sits on their eyelashes, wipes their cheeks and covers their sin in nothing more than petrichor and the _tip-tap-tip-tap_ that plays.  
  
And Cas knows - _he knows all, has lived through terror, rendered flesh from bone and forced to repeat it again and again and again_ \- and so he just pulls away, peels himself from Dean like a reluctant child and meets his eyes head-on and whispers _I love you_ and Dean is gone.  
  
Dean is absolutely _gone_ ; gone for this creature, for this being hidden beneath layers of bone and muscle and masking itself as Man; but for all he wanted him barren and empty, vacated from his shell, his hands itch to grab and pierce and tear until he sees _blue_ and _white_ and _power_.  
  
And he loves him, too; loves the blue in his borrowed eyes just as much as he loves the blue of his Grace, even as his fingers twitch and plead for strength, for blood; _for Him_.  
  
And the concept is so hilarious to Dean that he cracks a smile, sees Cas reveal his own whites in response, though he stopped reading minds long ago.  
  
Cas would let him, if Dean could; if he could tear him asunder with his fingers and his teeth and his soul alone, but he _can't_ and so Dean settles for this: trysts underneath the setting eyes of the World, slipping shut on all they do under its' nose, quiet and resting.  
  
And his confidence peeks from his chest, curls happily in the space between his ribs at what it sees and seeps out into the night; desire and rage none too far behind, skipping hand-in-hand as his mouth seeks its' match.  
  
And Cas twines with him - _here, there, everywhere he can_ \- and Dean devours every sound that drip-falls onto his tongue, ravenous.  
  
Baby settles in her space, thwarted, and Mom just slips back into her corner, waiting, _always waiting_ , and Cas is pulling him, leading them into the abyss without so much as a warm _hello_ as they stumble across the remains of the Earth.  
  
And somewhere, in-between the chaos and the persistent rain and the _please_ that keeps panting in his head, he says _I love you, too_.  
  
Everything after that simply pools to the floor, waiting to rear back and sink again.


End file.
